


I think I like you

by KeiserFranz



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, George thinks, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, See what I did there, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeiserFranz/pseuds/KeiserFranz
Summary: George decides to tell Ringo how he feels. Which proves to be harder than expected.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney (mentioned)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	I think I like you

**Author's Note:**

> my first attempt at writing starrison, and let me tell you, fucking hell, I wanted to scream while editing, it reads so rusty sjshebhd!!! (which I'm kinda used to, but not to this extend, I swear)
> 
> I even asked my cat, who shares the zodiac sign with george to help me...tho, I suspect he gave me wrong information on purpose, you know how felines are
> 
> anyway, apologies for any errors and weird-ass pacing, hope it won't haunt you in your dreams, lol

"Paul?"

George waited patiently for his friend to exit the dream world the book he was reading led him to. Finally, the older man's eyes focused on him, a slender finger marking the paragraph he would come back to once the conversation was over. A concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows as he noticed his mate's hesitant fidgeting did not encourage George. "Don't be a pussy," he groaned at his situation, scoping up the vanishing confidence.

"How did you find out you liked John?"

The question had occupied his head for longer than he would be willing to admit. And though it may seem like it was a fruit of boredom, now, when he had already scrolled through every social media possible. Had suffered through an enormous pile of cringe tik toks, thank you very much. The probability of Paul sneaking to the core of the issue wasn't high, George knew, still, his own awareness of the motives provoking the ask coloured his cheeks red, perspiration coating his palms.

"I guess I just knew?" Paul offered, his lips slowly but surely stretching into a tiny grin. "Yeah, like I knew I wasn't going to be a teacher, y'know, an instinct of some sort."

George nodded along despite the fact that he DIDN'T have the slightest idea what kind of instinct Paul was referring to. Obviously, if he shared the magic ability to just know he wouldn't be there, red as a ripe tomato even on his arse, trying to gain some knowledge. 

"But-" his mouth opened on its own accord, probably to relieve the pressure of too many thoughts floating inside his head. He must utter it in a rush and quite a high volume, judging by the trip Paul's eyebrows went to. Clearing his throat, George forced himself to continue. "But how did you know John felt the same?"

It seemed to throw Paul off his cloud of happiness, for he breathed in as if to speak up then decided against it. He even closed his book, after he inserted a bookmark, of course, before turning his face to George.

"Well, like I said I knew, which, eh, which made it very easy on my front, but I had no bloody idea what was going inside John's head. Funnily enough, he told me he had felt the same, and the uncertainty, you know, it was maddening. I thought he dug me one day, then considered me just a friend the other. So, we sort of tiptoed around each other, waiting for some clear indication." Paul made a dramatic pause that had George prepared for some sort of a grand romantic gesture. Preferably with rivers of tears and roses.

"That was till we got shitfaced one night after the show and slept together."

Oh god.

"You-you shagged?" George stuttered, torn between wanting to erase the last 3 minutes from his memory and hearing the full story. 

"Ehm, don't really remember, to be frank, I reckon we just sort of wanked together, mainly because the next day neither of us was sporting a sore ass and, y'know, that would be pretty telling. And we were...shy? Actually, I do think John gave-"

"Nonono," George yelled, rubbing his temples in an attempt to exorcise very vivid images of his friends in a delicate situation. "I get it, I get it! So, you both knew for sure after that?"

Paul frowned, concentrating on recalling the events. "Hmm, no, not really, the first thing in my head was how I fucked it all. Well, all except John. And then the hangover. It felt like death. But, it was horrible, then..he slept like a baby while I went through all the possible scenarios of the end of our friendship. Even prepared meself for him punching me, because, ehm, you know, it was strange. And then...then he woke up, opened his eyes and I saw the same confusion and fear I'd been going through. And-And he saw it too, figuratively at least, because he sees shit without his specs, but that was when we knew."

The still on-going romance between his two friends often played the butt of many George's jokes. But, as he observed Paul getting lost in fond memories, saw his features soften and tint pink, he realised for the first time how much more complex the reality was. Everybody had been talking nonstop about the chemistry between Lennon and McCartney, long before they got together officially, all the tabloids creating the illusion they just snapped their fingers and it happened. 

And for the first time George realised the bitterness when he started to suspect his feeling for Ringo had been unjustified the entire time. He hadn't done anything not because it wouldn't be worth the nerves or because of the possible damage of their dear friendship, but because he was scared. 

George Harrison, madly in love with his closest friend and scared shitless.

"Why you ask? Do you think somebody is playing a game with you? You would tell me, right?" Paul interrupted his trance, jumping fully into his big brother attire. George shook his head, not elaborating or offering a further explanation, but he made sure to hug Paul extra tight when going home. 

~~~~~

Two days were left before Christmas Eve. Also known as the date George earmarked as the deadline to confess his feelings. Or at least share them with Ringo to see where they should go from there.

He considered himself lucky, as opposed to an unknown fella, who couldn't see an elephant but still refused to wear his lenses, Ringo was able to actually discuss various matters. He managed to listen to the other person's points, not rushing to contribute with his own five cents and offered his point of view when asked. Emotions or nerves rarely influenced his words, something even George could dream of. 

And, most importantly, he belonged to people who would almost always persuade George to stop being grumpy. As opposed to Paul whose comforting routine consisted of infuriating George to the point when burning his entire house down seemed like a good plan. But then again, no one could tame John even in his most biting, sour and aggressive mood. It made George think of soulmates, god, somewhere deep inside his chest he ached for them to be soulmates.

After his heart-to-heart dialogue with Paul, George dashed home, full of energy and ambition to spill it all.

Till he arrived. The first worries began as he fumbled with keys. Wasn't putting your heart into someone's hand via phone too informal? An entire flock of very, very dark images followed his routine of turning the lights on. Ringo laughing. Ringo having over a woman who turned to be the love of his life. Ringo hanging up. Ringo asking him whether he was sloshed. Ringo announcing him his plans to change his identity and move to Buenos Aires. Ringo telling him it was a very nice of him but the feelings weren't reciprocated. Ringo. Ringo. Ringo.

He decided to calm himself by cooking a brief dinner. Hands busied by chopping vegetables, his mind, somehow, offered even more reasons against picking the damned phone. He fought the rush of cowardness, really did, but by the time he chewed the last mouthful, the clock ticked 11 pm. George knew Ringo's sleeping habits or the struggles he experienced with insomnia and decided to just stare at the contact for 30 minutes before the screen turned black on its own accord. What if that night was Ringo's lucky night sleep-wise and he would disrupt it? 

Except for the following day he learnt Ringo fell asleep for what seemed like 2 minutes. The drummer himself complained to him about that, looking like an adorable ray of sunshine even with charcoal shadows under his eyes. 

George had felt like a mad person since that. Almost as if he lived two lives. One where Ringo and he were just friends, very good and dear ones, but friends nevertheless. And one where they were the walking definition of couple goals. To say even the tiniest interaction between them became huge trouble for poor George would be an understatement. His eyes seemed to be drawn to Ringo's face, admiring the colour of his eyes, his adorable nose, the way he smiled...

In conclusion, George was fucked up.

After failing to come up with an idea to do something about the situation, he opted for a very pathetic strategy. To avoid. And avoid he did. Mumbling apologies about not feeling well, tight schedule, flat in need of a good cleaning, the list went on and on. And every time his heart sunk, mirroring the corners of Ringo's lips.

George contemplated reaching to Paul again, fully braced for a good 'are you really that stupid' speech, his pride kicked down by the fact that he was willingly hurting someone so precious. Hell, he would even take a piece of advice from John, and that adorned the situation with a whimsical cherry. Unfortunately, both love birds had decided to depart to the city of love for a private pre-Christmas celebration, throwing jokes about joyful times -- George did not want to think about that -- to relive the memories of their first stay in the city of love. 

His hand was aching, a side effect of clutching one's phone since 6 am, for almost an hour. He waited for the numbers to turn to 7:08 (he always liked number 8) and dialled Ringo's number.

"George? Hi!" Ringo's voice sounded like an angelic choir to George and he simply relished the fact that he still picked the call despite having every reason not to. Then reality slapped him and he rushed to speak up.

"Yes, hi, it's me! Hi! How-how are you?"

He regretted mocking Paul for rehearsing his calls, at least he didn't sound like a maniac fan girl. But he was rewarded by the sound of Ringo's laugh, OH.

"I'm great, yourself?" 

"Yeah, not bad, eh, listen, I," George shut his eyes, a pointless method of his to gain confidence. "I was wondering if you would like to come over and and, watch a movie maybe? I'll cook too. If you don't have anything planned, of course."

There was a pause on the other side, making George wince. Then, hesitantly, Ringo answered. 

"You would like to watch a movie with me?" 

The unsure tone with a hint of self-deprecation, so untypical for Ringo, startled George. But then he buried the feeling of shame because knew he had been acting like a heartless jerk, and rushed to pick up the crumbles of their friendship.

"Yeah, of course I would, always do."

He pushed down the nauseous feeling of guilt, hoping those words sounded sincere. Because they were, honest, that is, but George had no idea how it sounded. Never had it occurred to him to care about something so trivial. 

"Oh, wow, I-I, yes, I'll be there at 7-ish?"

George nodded, completely oblivious to the fact that the other side couldn't see him. Roughly 12 hours should be enough to conduct as many calming exercises as possible.

As it turned out, it was just enough to cook dinner and get stuck on a proper way to apologise. And how to casually transit to the important bit. The 'I think I'm in love with you' bit.

When the bell rang at 7:16, George realised he just spent 2 hours sitting crossed legged and talking to a sunflower Ringo gave him. 

~~~~~

Nothing, not even an endless conversation with his flora, could prepare George for the rush of happiness when the door revealed his friend. At that moment, as the world slowed down for a second, George sensed they would be alright, even if it didn't work out as he had imagined in his dreams. Ringo would still be there, wide smile and sparkling eyes.

But then Ringo stepped forward, engulfing George in a tight embrace, smelling like wind and honey and home, and the dream of them being soulmates resurfaced. 

Despite the awkward dance accompanying the routine of Ringo shedding his coat and shoes while George focused on containing the urge to help him, maybe hug him from behind, planting a little kiss on the side of face…despite that, it didn't take long for a vivid conversation to bloom. Ringo even brought a box of photos he developed the other day, back from their summer holiday, knowing how George enjoyed flipping through still pictures.

George studied each square individually, diving into memories. He remembered all the tiny details, mainly because it was there, warm sand under his feet and the sound of crashing waves in the background, when he accepted the feelings weren't him being confused or bored. 

Besides that, he walked on John and Paul getting raunchy, even drinking gallons of holy water wouldn't help him to forget. 

"They look happy," Ringo remarked, startling George who toyed with the photo of their friends, both of them grinning and hugging each other. 

"Yeah, reckon they come from Paris engaged, if not married. You should see the procedure of Paul packing up." 

Ringo chuckled, his fingers drumming on the table surface, something that could either signal nervosity, or repressed longing for his drum set. 

"Can I ask you something?"

Ah, the former then, which only spurred George's own nerves.

"Sure."

"Is everything alright? You've been acting strange lately."

The phrasing made George flinch, of course Ringo would formulate it like that. Of course he would be worried. George would react the same way, wouldn't he, if the roles were reversed and was the one pushed away. He smoothened the photo of Paul and John and gazed up.

"I think I like you."

"Of course," Ringo smiled. "Of course you do, I do, too, we are best frie-."

"NOT LIKE THAT," George didn't give him time to finish. The puzzlement displayed on Ringo's face stopped him, his cheeks growing pink as he repeated it once more in a whisper. "Not like that, Ritchie, that's the problem."

If someone was observing the interaction from distance, he would very likely think it was awkward. George agreed, it was embarrassing, yes, but raw, too. And frightening. It was George's best friend. His best friend who currently sat quiet, thousand plus three questions whirling around his head.

"Can you say something please?" George tried, hating the slight wobble in his voice.

Ringo blinked once, twice, then finally, finally, opened his mouth. "Are you sure?"

"Dead sure."

The confidence in George's voice, contrasting with his jittery appearance silenced Ringo for a while, his fingers ceasing the tapping, before he spoke up again.

"So, you don't feel pressured just because Paul and John are dating? Because that's rubbish, you can't get those headlines to get at you. Of course, it would be a master move from the PR point of view...but nobody is forcing you, right? And if you feel lonely, I just want you to know that you are a wonderful person and definitely can find someone special."

George wanted to scream. Or bang his head against the wall. He always imagined the confession itself would leave quite an aftershock once uttered, but it hadn't occurred to him, not once, that he would have to clarify, explain his feelings. 

"Nobody is forcing me, that's true," he started, his mind blank. "I figured I loved you like half a year ago. But nothing really changed drastically. Which makes me think I could have loved you for years now. Just didn't know how...or was afraid to name it. And I don't want 'someone special', I want you. As my friend or something more, but you. With your colourful shirts, bundles of camera films everywhere, kind eyes, daily comments...everything. "

"Oh," Ringo breathed, not breaking eye contact. "In that case, I think I love you too. Because I can't imagine someone special who is not you, either.

The corners of their lips curled upwards, simultaneously, as they repeated the other's words in their head. Both of them beaming.

"Can I kiss you?" Ringo broke the comfortable silence, then flushed when it dawned on him. "If you don't want to, that's, uhm, that's perfectly fine."

"I want to."

The kiss was nothing George could imagine and everything he could dream of. Ringo trod to him, slowly, his hands sliding over George's shoulders as he fitted himself between his legs. The position resembling those 'how not to kiss' tutorials from the 50s, armchair edition. But, as soon as Ringo tilted his head, one hand cupping George's cheek, it didn't matter. 

When they pulled back, equally dishevelled and ecstatic, George could burst from the joy. And definitely wanted to kiss Ringo again. Multiple times. 

They were alright.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading


End file.
